


Dancing

by reyna_is_gay



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:03:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyna_is_gay/pseuds/reyna_is_gay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabelle likes to dance while intoxicated and Clary finds her dancing intoxicating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing

Clary liked to watch Isabelle dance. Alec had told her that, once upon an eternity ago, she had taken dance lessons as a way to escape from the boy-ridden household. Isabelle rarely danced while sober and never in Clary’s presence so Clary's window into the world of Isabelle's dancing was intoxication and her view was intoxicating. 

Currently Clary was sitting at a little round card table in the corner of the bar across the room from the gracefully twirling goddess who was Isabelle. Jace was watchingher expectantly as she traced lines into the table top that mimicked the lines of Isabelle’s neck, her head thrown back laughing as if nothing mattered. Jace spoke and Clary returned to reality. His words were difficult to hear over the loud music that propelled Isabelle across the floor and into the arms of boys and girls alike.

“What did you say?” Clary nearly shouted over the pounding music.

“I asked if you wanted to leave!” He shouted back, a twinge of anger in his voice.

“No! Not quite yet.” She replied returning her eyes to Isabelle who met her gaze. Isabelle's eyes beckoned her, Clary stood, looking from Jace to Isabelle who was disappearing into the crowd already. “I'm going to dance!” She said to him but she wasn't sure he heard.

Clary made her way onto the dance floor and before long she was caught by Isabelle who happily twined their fingers together and whirled her about. Isabelle looked at her, eyes sparkling in the flashing lights of the club and Clary blushed.

They danced forever, until the crowd on the floor had thinned and the music had died down and the people in the club were filtering slowly out. Isabelle twirled her one last time before snaking an arm around her waist and guiding her out of the club. She was laughing carelessly, her breath smelled of alcohol and her tangled hair mixed with her bright eyes was strangely alluring. 

After some time walking together down the road in the direction of a street that they could catch a cab on, Isabelle began to speak, her words slurring together and her eyebrows furrowing as if it were very difficult to say whatever she had to say. “Clary,” she said tenderly, taking Clary's hand in her own, “I like you a lot. You're very pretty and you draw pretty things and you're perfect and you make me happy and I don't know why and sometimes I love you and you danced with me and I wish you would do that more because I love it and you…" She stopped speaking as if she couldn't remember what she was going to say, "I can't remember what came next. You're so amazing.” 

Clary looked at her in awe, suddenly noticing that they had stopped walking and Isabelle’s face was incredibly close to hers. She couldn't think of anything to say, Isabelle was looking into her eyes with such ferocity that Clary felt as if her soul was being examined. And suddenly Isabelle's lips were on hers and for a brief second under that street lamp sometime near two am on a Friday night or a Saturday morning everything stood still.

Isabelle's hands wrapped around her neck and she clasped Isabelle's face in her hands as they kissed. When the broke apart Isabelle looked into her eyes in the same way as she had before and whispered, “You're perfect.” 

And then the moment was over, Clary hailed a cab and they were back at the institute. Clary helped Isabelle into bed, kissing her once on the forehead before leaving the room for one of the guest bedrooms down the hall. 

Isabelle had been drunk, she told herself, it hadn't meant all that.

Isabelle rolled over in her sleep. Being drunk doesn't change you, it just lowers your gard. Isabelle could dance while sober, but she was always too afraid. Isabelle could have told Clary those things while sober, but she had always been too afraid to.


End file.
